Conversations with Jenna

(to me, talking about Claire)

Jenna: Awww...look at those little fingers! Look at those little pigs! And look at that cute little pinto-butt! Look, mom! Look at Clairey's little pinto-bean butt!

Conversations with Jenna

(As we drive into the subdivision)

Jenna: Wow, wow, WOW! Look at all those lights! Wow! Look at that snowman! Oh no! That snoman isn't blowed up! Oh no! What happened?! Wow! Look at those lights! They're shakin' their bodies! Woo hoo! Look! Heeeeerrrreeee'sss the Griswald's house! (a house that is overdecorated)!

Conversations with Jenna

Mommy: Jenna, look at those beautiful twinkle-lights!
Jenna: Those aren't twinkle-lights, mom.
Mommy: Yes, they are.
Jenna: No, they're not.
Mommy: So, Miss Smarty-pants, what are they?
Jenna: They're lights that are shakin' their bodies!

The birds, the bees, and the boobies

I saw squirrels humping today. I have never seen that in my life. I really wanted to sit there and check it out, but my three-year-old would have asked too many questions, which I am not about to answer.

Not much to write about, except that I LOVE MY BABIES SO FRICKIN MUCH THAT I COULD EAT THEM FOR EVERY MEAL AND SNACK ON THEM IN BETWEEN.

Oh yes, one more thing: If Claire does not start begging off the boobies, there are gonna be some hard times ahead. I REFUSE to get up 2 times a night to give her unnecessary boobies. And, right now I'm making a promise: I will NOT give in to the pitiful crying; tears; the patting of my chest with that delicious, chubby little hand, and the teeny-tiny, gravely voice saying, "b-b-b-b-booooob-b-b-bies!" I will not fall victim to the sigh of relief she makes when I finally give her the coveted boobie; nor will I get a glow around my heart when she nurses, curls her belly against mine, and puts her hand on my face. Dammit. Maybe if I put a John Kerry mask on her, I won't fall victim to her cuteness.

Luva boy

It's funny how you can just be sitting at your desk working, when a memory just pops into your head. I'm talking a total blast from the past type of memory. When I was in 3rd grade, we moved to Texas. This tall, blond, gangly kid down the street decided he was my boyfriend. Now, in 3rd grade, I was still at prime "cooties" age, so why he liked me, I'll never know. He was nice, so I hung out with him. He never tried to "put the moves" on me--whatever "moves" it is boys have in the third grade. On Valentine's Day, he gave me a big, red, heart-shaped box of Whitman's chocolates and a Holly Hobbie card. The card had some young, tender message in it, and was signed, "Love, Jay Phelan." I wonder what happened to Jay Phelan.

Coal in your stocking

Last night, like all the other 30+ nights before, Jenna has wandered into our room and tried to sneak into bed with us. Usually, she accomplishes this; she is sly like a fox: climbing over the footboard and settling between us without causing even a stir between the two of us. Well, last night, I was prepared. Her first mistake: she tried to climb over me. CAUGHT!
I said, "Jenna, you know Santa only brings presents to good girls, right?"
"Right," she answered.
"Good girls sleep in their own beds, right?"
"Right."
I say, "So, let's go back into your bed."
Sternly, "NO. I need you, mommy."
Being all smart, I say, "So, I guess you don't want Santa to bring you 'Whack-a-Mole'?"
And, being my child, she looks me right in the eye, and says, "Nope."

Does reverse psychology EVER work? Not with this child.